Resonance

by C S Vass

  After a time Fiona finally regained some of her senses. The anger had subsided and now there was nothing left but a dull ache. Her hopes and goals had been entirely obliterated. She had lost Rodrick for good. There could be no redemption from his actions now. She no longer hoped to save him, only to vanquish the Vaentysh Boys and put this horrible chapter of her life behind her for good.

  She had hardly noticed the crew of people that had assembled around her, but here they were. Helena Fiercewind with deep lines of worry engraved on her face, Sandra Redfire pacing the room with a haunted look in her drooping blue eyes, Donyo Brownwater muttering to himself, and Shifter sitting cross-legged on the desk as unpredictable as ever.

  “Unless help comes from the twins, I can see no hope,” Fiercewind said. “There are three dozen loyalists in this building willing to fight. None of them are soundmages, and only about half know which end of the sword goes into an enemy.”

  Headmaster Fiercewind knelt close to her, and looked deep into Fiona’s eyes. “You have shown tremendous courage in the face of this madness. You are still an underage child. I cannot ask you to fight, but…”

  “Perhaps I should say the same to all of you.” Sandra Redfire’s voice was thin and weak. She looked ill. “A real leader does what’s best for their people. This cause is lost. Downcastle’s men are all around us. Help is nowhere to be seen, despite what the twins have said. I see nothing in our future but slaughter.”

  “I will not bow to the Vaentysh,” Donyo said. “I don’t think you two can either, Sandra and Helena.” He spoke in a low, reflective voice. “Not even if we wanted to. I’m afraid for us, it’s the executioner’s block if we’re lucky. Something more unpleasant if we’re not. Still, I see no reason why that means Fiona and the others must die.”

  “There might be wisdom in that,” Fiercewind said. “Downcastle will not let us live, but three dozen others might go on to have a life. Perhaps we should not throw it away. Not in a battle where there can be no hope of winning.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Shifter said brightly. “They won’t kill me.”

  Donyo snorted loudly. “Oh good. I was hoping someone might be left to make sure that Downcastle doesn’t piss on my grave. Be a good lad and be sure he doesn’t.”

  “The twins still could come,” Fiona said. But even as she spoke, doubts racked her mind. They could come, but why hadn’t they? Still, she had been slowly working to find her voice and now she had. “We can’t surrender while that chance still exists.”

  “It’s not in me to surrender,” Sandra said definitively. “Not after what they did to my father. I know he was not a perfect man, but he did not deserve to die and have his head placed above the seat of his own power.”

  “I won’t surrender to them,” Fiona said. “No matter what.”

  “Fiona,” Sandra’s voice was full of sorrow. “I owe you an apology. You must have hated me during your time here in Sun Circle. I had reason to believe that Rodrick was working with the Vaentysh Boys. I thought you may have been too. Obviously I was terribly wrong. Will you forgive me?”

  Fiona met the sunken eyes of Sandra Redfire and realized that she was not alone in enduring terrible losses. “Yes,” she said. “I can forgive you. I can’t forgive Rodrick though. Or any of the other Vaentysh Boys who are making life a hell for the Laquathi in Haygarden right now. I won’t bow to this. I won’t accept it. I won’t!”

  “I suspect the ones that remain securing our school won’t either,” Fiercewind said. “It’s not as if there’s the promise of glory for being here. The ones who have come must truly hate the Vaentysh. I see no other reason why they would subject themselves to this.”

  “So we fight to the bitter and inglorious end,” Donyo said with a smirk. “I do my best fighting at the dinner table, bare steel against stacks of steaming meat, and a thick black ale for backup. I am not versed in the ways of warfare. All the same, I suppose for once in my life I could put a real sword in my hand. Though only just the once, as I don’t imagine the endeavor will go terribly well.”

  “Headmaster!” a large man with a hawkish face burst into the room. “Downcastle is here with a retinue of soundmages. He requests a parley.”

  Fiercewind sighed. “I suppose that we must give him one, though I don’t know what it will accomplish.”

  “It will buy us time,” Sandra Redfire said. She spoke softly. “The twins may still yet come. All is not lost as of yet.”

  The group of them moved out to the balcony in the front of the school. Lawrence Downcastle sat on a plump horse, bald head shining in the sunlight. He clenched an ornate clarinet in one hand and stroked his long salt-and-pepper beard with the other.

  “I thank you for meeting me!” Downcastle boomed in a voice that was magically amplified by song magic. As he sang the horses of one of his men reared and whinnied, but Downcastle ignored it. “It is commendable that you would cling to your ideals, even in this late hour. Commendable, yet foolhardy. Your cause is lost. You have one school against a city. Do not sacrifice Haygarden lives needlessly. Come down, kiss the cloth of my robe, and no one else need die.”

  “I bow to no usurper,” Sandra responded. “Who are you to give me orders?”

  “Your king, by right of conquest,” Downcastle responded. “The same right that made your own sire an independent lord.”

  “Yet here I remain, unconquered,” Sandra said. “Remember that before you arrogantly bestow meaningless titles upon yourself.” She spit off the balcony.

  “A true leader would not send good warriors off to die without cause,” Downcastle said. “Rodrick Sacrosin has petitioned for all of your lives. He has served the cause of the new order with honor, and I will reward him by sparing you. But only if you throw down your weapons, open the gates, and kneel!”

  His words stung Fiona bitterly. “We want no gift from traitors!” she shouted.

  “Quiet girl,” Downcastle barked as he dismissed her with the wave of his hand. “Is this your final answer then? You seek your own deaths? I am reluctant to spill Haygarden blood, but I am no coward. I intend to rule this city in its entirety, and will not tolerate dissent. Shifter! Surely you can speak some sense to them?”

  Shifter, who sat cross-legged on the balcony, was innocently humming a tune. The secret-keeper appeared to only then realize the confrontation that was happening between the two parties. “Me? Oh, no Lord Downcastle, I don’t think I can. They really hate you. I think Sandra is going to try to kill you before this is done.”

  “And you will do nothing to stop this madness?” Downcastle asked.

  “I don’t care one way or the other, as long as someone’s left to play games with me,” Shifter responded in a childlike voice.

  Downcastle grumbled something, but it was inaudible. “Very well! Prepare yourselves.” The Master Soundmage raised his clarinet to a pair of plump wormy lips, but before he sounded a note his party exploded in chaos.

  Arrows soared from thick shrubbery and a group of warriors led by Geoff Hightower were on Downcastle’s party as a pack of wolves descends upon sheep. Fiona watched in amazement as men were flung from their horses. The aged knight moved with the grace of a dancer, his old-fashioned military cape fluttering behind him like a purple banner.

  Hightower’s sword went right for Downcastle’s throat, but from the ground the soundmage managed to blast a quick arpeggio that created a translucent shield around his body. The blade was deflected, and the knight with emerald eyes moved with the force and pierced the skull of a soundmage to his right.

  From the balcony they could do nothing but watch in amazement as Hightower and his men drove back the soundmages. Hightower himself fought like a demon. Fiona watched in disbelief at the old man’s incredible instinct for finding the most vulnerable place to put his sword.

  Downcastle managed to scramble back on his horse and quickly played out a low series of baleful notes that summoned the roots of trees from their place underneath the earth and set them to Hig
htower like a grotesquely sentient cat o’ nine tails. Hightower leapt and somersaulted in a complex series of movements, and a younger man of his skill might have avoided the blows with ease. Alas, eventually he was speared through the upper thigh with a thin snakelike branch and the old knight fell.

  “You have sealed your fate!” Downcastle shouted as his party was chased away by Hightower’s men.

  “Quick, bring him inside!” Sandra shouted to Hightower’s soldiers. Geoff Hightower was quickly lifted by his younger companions and the group on the balcony ran down to let them in the front door before more of Downcastle’s men arrived.

  “You damn fool!” Sandra said when he was placed down. “We need you alive. That was suicide mission!”

  Hightower was panting heavily, and a trickle of blood snaked down the side of his face. “I…I meant to see the treasonous bastard dead,” he breathed. “I never suspected…never dreamed. How did we miss it? We’ve grown lax.”

  Sandra shook her head in sympathy and exasperation, and took the old knight’s dark-skinned hand in her own pale one. “Old fool, we need you alive.”

  “Get me some bandages,” Fiercewind said to one of his men. “We need to wrap up this wound.”

  “It will be alright,” the old knight rasped. Beads of sweat had formed across his forehead, and there was a pale-green tinge to his skin. “I’m sorry. I meant to have his head. I thought we would make it if we chose our moment. If I had slain him, many might have defected back to our side. I’m sorry, Sandra. I am not the young man I once was.”

  “Quiet now, you’ve done your part,” Sandra said. “I will hear no more of your regrets. They will sing of that brave feat for many years to come, insane though it may have been.”

  “Only if we win,” he said. “But with Downcastle still alive, I don’t see how that’s possible.” Hightower rose with a groan. “Damn thing hurts like hell, but I can still fight, if I’m careful.”

  The look Sandra Redfire gave him would have melted snow.

  “Very well, I can still all least be present and command a fight. We need a strategy. I’ll stay here with my men and guard the front entrance.”

  “We all have important roles to play if we’re going to survive long enough for aid to come,” Fiercewind said. She quickly got Hightower up to speed on possible help coming from the Moonwood. To Fiona’s surprise the old knight took the news solemnly and without question.

  “Donyo and Shifter,” Fiercewind went on. “You’ll go check on all the secret passageways of the school. Set traps in them if you can. Make sure they’re blockaded if you can’t. Sandra, go join Martin in the courtyard and help him seal the area. Fiona, with me.”

  The orders given, everyone immediately went to their respective tasks. Fiercewind marched with quick intent through the school, and Fiona had to rush to keep up. “Fiona, there is not much hope without help from the Moonwood. Even with it…I just don’t know. If Hightower had succeeded, gods, things might have been so different. Brave man. But we need more than bravery now. We need to be smart.”

  Fiona touched the pommel of Rodrick’s discarded blade. She could not say what made her pick it up, but having it felt somehow right. She had always admired his sword. He did not deserve so fine a weapon now. The eyes of the dragon-pommel stared mercilessly at her. A shiver went up her spine.

  They quickly walked up spiral stairs to the Northwest tower of the school. Fiercewind stopped outside of a simple oak door with a silver knob.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” Fiercewind said. “That is a bitter blow, to be sure.”

  Fiona felt her face grow hot but she forced anything she felt deep down into the pit of her stomach. She would not allow for emotions now. Fiercewind continued, “Haygarden has fallen to an ideology of hatred. The Vaentysh Boys, they could usher in an era that will be detrimental not just to Haygarden, but to all of Tellos. This isn’t just about rounding up and expelling the Laquathi. If they abuse the power of the Moonwood, the impact could be more terrible than any of us realize.”

  “I’m ready for a fight,” Fiona said.

  “As am I,” Fiercewind agreed. She opened the door, and inside the room was a massive organ. Thick brass pipes protruded from the instrument, some of which curved and bent in strange ways. “Should the worst happen, I will come here. You must make sure that Donyo and Shifter must join me. That is absolutely essential. Do you understand?”

  Fiona looked at the massive instrument with wonder. The taller pipes in the back stood like golden sentries glowing in the candlelight. “What—”

  “No questions,” Fiercewind said. “There’s no time. If things go badly, they must join me. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Fiona said.

  “As for you…Rodrick knows about help coming from the Moonwood. He’ll also be aware of the magic portal system between the forest and the school. The secret lies in the pools that you were transported into when you arrived here earlier. The Vaentysh Boys will attempt to sabotage them, and prevent aid from coming. Go back to where you and Martin emerged from, and see that there are no obstacles. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Fiona said. In an instant she turned her heel to sprint away, but Fiercewind placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Fiona, I’m sorry about Professor Thrushling. I never knew what malice he held in his heart. If I had…I’m sorry. Forgive me. I failed you.”

  Fiona was surprised to see tears welling in Fiercewind’s eyes. She had never seen the Headmaster cry. Fiona didn’t have the heart to tell Fiercewind, but she was getting used to being betrayed. It wasn’t the time, but when the fighting was over she would tell the Headmaster that there was nothing to forgive.

  Fiona’s heart pounded as she ran through the hallways. Sounds of battle could be heard in the school, though she stayed focused on her task. Fiercewind was a capable commander. If everyone did their part, they could hold on until help arrived.

  She made her way to the first floor without incident, but as she turned a corner she saw two men of an age with her wearing thick leather armor and sporting dangerous curved swords.

  “Come to say hello,” sneered one of the Vaentysh soldiers. Fiona unsheathed her demon-pommel blade and silently crept forward.

  “She got two swords,” the other soldier said. Greasy hair splashed over half his face, concealing one of his eyes. Well, turns out we got two swords too. Maybe she wants to see 'em?”

  She let the words wash over her like waves breaking against a rocky shore. The first soldier’s expression turned to fear when he saw her continue forward with deadly intent. “Little bitch,” he growled. He came at her clumsily, with a great hacking sweep meant to cleave her in half at the waist. He was slow, much slower than she was, and she pierced her blade between his eyes before he was close to touching her.

  The other soldier screamed and sent a blow for her head, which she managed to deflect. She cartwheeled her arm sending the attacker stumbling backwards and gave him a red smile across the throat that wept while he died.

  Not waiting to see if more were coming she continued on her way. There are too many entrances into the school, and too few of us to properly guard them, she realized. It didn’t matter. They could only do what they could, and Fiona did not intend on kneeling anytime soon.

  As she reached the basement a gust of cold air met her face. It felt as if there was some sort of opening to the outside, but she had no idea where it would be coming from. Should she try investigate a breach? No, Fiercewind had given her clear instructions and she should follow them. There would be breaches. Men were in the castle already, it was unavoidable. It was more important to keep the path to the Moonwood secure.

  Her decision made Fiona moved silently through the dark hallways of Clearwater’s basement like a wraith. Rodrick had taught her early on how to move on almost any surface without creating a sound. Surprise would certainly be crucial in a fight where they were so desperately outnumbered, and she meant to keep that advantage.

  S
harp wet noises suddenly caught her attention. She recognized the sound immediately. But how could they…it didn’t matter. Sword hissing from its sheath, Fiona braced herself for the next phase of the fighting.

  The first reeker came at her at once, slapping wet feet against the stone floor and sensing her presence with a snakelike tongue that flickered from its vertical mouth. Wrinkling her nose in disgust Fiona quickly dispatched the creature, when another replaced it.

  The work was cold butchery, but there was nothing to be done. Reekers came at her in the long tunnel-like hallway. The advantage was hers. The creatures were slow and clumsy, and because she was fortunate enough that they had chosen a poor place to attack her she didn’t need to face more than two at a time. The shape of the hallway prevented more of them from surrounding her. They thrust their bodies awkwardly at Fiona, teeth clashing together and claws reaching, but without weapons or armor they were quickly dealt with.

  The demon-pommel blade danced in powerful symmetry with her body over and over again. Gradually, her arms began to tire and she wondered how many more would come. The minutes trickled by, and sweat drenched the back of her neck as the bodies piled up. Each swing of her sword left her arms aching, but she had no choice but to keep going or perish.

  Then she made a mistake. As a reeker sprinted towards her she extended her blade through its stomach, but rather than recoil the beast thrust itself into the blow, catching her off-guard and sending her crashing to the ground. Even as the reeker died more came on top, trapping her underneath their bodies.

  She was on the ground, struggling desperately with only the slain reeker’s body as a shield between herself and the oncoming foes. Claws scratched and teeth gnashed furiously around her. Fiona felt long slimy fingers grabbing for her throat. Suddenly, with her head turned backwards she saw Martin and Sandra rushing towards her.

  Martin had a bow in hands, and as he nocked and released an arrow Sandra sounded three quick notes on a flute and Martin’s arrow multiplied tenfold. The reekers above her were cut down by a hail of shots that might have been fired from ten men. They did it again, and again, and soon Fiona was completely surrounded by the bodies of the fallen creatures.